


A Million Little Pieces

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-19
Updated: 2007-02-20
Packaged: 2019-01-19 15:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12413157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: A series ofcompletely unrelatedLily/James vignettes.Chapter Summary: A kissing couple on the London Underground raises a series of questions that should not exist between just-friends. HOURGLASS NOMINEE!!!





	1. I Hate You Because I Have To

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Disclaimer:** The title “A Million Little Pieces” is in no way associates with James Frey’s book (formerly a member of Oprah’s book club). In fact, the only think these two pieces of writing have in common (besides the title) is that they are both fiction. Heh. Oh yeah…by the way, the views and opinions expressed in these writings are not necessarily those of me, Serena. Everything belongs to Jo Rowling. 

**Chapter Summary:** 6th year. Lily’s POV. ******* _Don’t cry,_ I told myself furiously. _Don’t cry._ ******* “ _Why so glum?_ ” I repeated his words with a poison I felt most passionately. ******* “Miss Evans, I would have expected better from a school Prefect.” “But not from James Potter,” a first year girl whispered. ******* I couldn’t stand to hear him. It would mean I would have to stop hating him. *******

I Hate You Because I Have To

The classroom door slammed shut as Professor McGonagall stalked angrily out. I found myself alone with _James Potter_. _Don’t cry_ , I told myself furiously. _Don’t cry_.

I stood facing him, trembling in rage. I mean, I was physically shaking. My face was flushed a disgusting shade of red like it always does when I’m angry. I gripped my wand with painful ferocity. _Don’t cry_. Yet I felt the tingling sensation behind my eyes that meant tears were coming.

“Why so glum?”

The audacity! The fucking _audacity!_

“ _Why so glum?_ ” I repeated his words with a poison I felt most passionately. My voice trembled so badly that if I’d been singing I would have had a lovely vibrato. “James Potter, in the six years I have been at this school, I have _never_ gotten a detention until today.” The words left my mouth and I felt a bit silly for saying them, but I wasn't about to start laughing.  


Potter shrugged. “Why the fuss? It’s a healthy experience to have.”

“I _didn’t do it_ , Potter! You did!”

Potter was smiling, taking in, _enjoying_ my anger.

“Yeah, thanks for taking that for me. She already gave me a detention today—”

“So take another one, Potter.”

He laughed— _laughed_. “You aren’t seeing the bright side, Evans!”

“There’s a _bright side?_ ” 

“Sure there is; think of all the time we’ll get to spend alone … together.”

I lost it. _That_ is when I lost it.

“Well isn’t _that_ fan-bloody-tastic?” I yelled. The tears prickled the edges of my eyes, but I fought them with every ounce of energy I wasn’t already using to hate Potter. “Sorry to deflate your severely bloated ego, but I don’t _want_ to spend time with you! You strut around like you’re _God_ or something and expect your idiocy to be mistaken as _charm_ or _charisma!_ ”

“Ev—”

“Well, have I got big news, or what? The world does _not_ revolve around James Potter! Try not to cry, though, okay? You don’t want the girls who are stupid enough to be enamored by you to find out that you’re a big baby!”

“Lily, there—”

“You know what else? You’re a _bully!_ _W_ here the hell do you get off blaming your childish prank on me? If you _like_ me so much, wouldn’t it impress me more if you took the blame for someone else rather than getting _me_ into trouble?”

He looked past me. It felt like I’d struck a nerve. Then he said: “Look, will you just calm down?”

That only made me angrier. “You are nothing but an arrogant, egotistical bully, James Potter!” I spat. Thoroughly upset over how worked up he’d gotten me, I added, “I hate you, Potter, I _hate you!_ ” Tears dangerously close, I decided to add a final insult before storming out dramatically. “I _fucking hate you!_ ”  

Seemingly from nowhere, he grabbed my shoulders and shook me. Hard. “EVANS! WILL YOU SHUT UP?” he bellowed.

Breath quaking, I looked around me. We had accumulated an unfortunate audience: Professor McGonagall’s next class. A class of first years. I looked behind me where James was staring: Professor McGonagall. 

“Mister Potter, Miss Evans,” she addressed us with eerie calmness. 

Too shocked to make excuses, I stood staring at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed with Potter still holding fast to my shoulders.

“Thirty points each from Gryffindor,” she said stiffly. “And you can both take another detention.” She shook her head. “Miss Evans, I would have expected better from a school Prefect.”

“But not from James Potter,” a first year girl whispered.

_Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t you dare cry_ , I mentally yelled at myself. _Not in front of the first years_. 

I looked back at Potter and my lower lip and chin quivered. _DO NOT CRY_.

I became suddenly (and perhaps _slightly_ irrationally) angry for his hands being on my shoulders. Contorting my face into what I hoped looked like anger (although it lacked the essential red tone), I shrugged his hands off and pushed him bodily away from me. _Don’t cry_. “What the hell is your problem?” I shouted at him and, despite my best efforts, burst into hot tears.

“Ev— _Lily_ , I’m really—”

I didn’t want to hear him, hear him take responsibility for what he’d done. Right now, forever, James Potter had to be the bad guy, wholly responsible for humiliating me in front of a bunch of first years.

“I’m sor—”

I turned on my heel and left the room. Maybe later he could apologize. _Maybe_. But right now I couldn’t stand to hear him. It would mean I would have to stop hating him. Right now, that wasn’t in the cards. I couldn’t not hate him. 


	2. When She Sleeps

**Disclaimer:** The title “A Million Little Pieces” is in no way associates with James Frey’s book (formerly a member of Oprah’s book club). In fact, the only think these two pieces of writing have in common (besides the title) is that they are both fiction. Heh. Oh yeah…by the way, the views and opinions expressed in these writings are not necessarily those of me, Serena. Everything belongs to Jo Rowling.

**Chapter Summary:** March 1981. Third person. James regards Lily's imperfections which make her perfect.  


When She Sleeps

Oftentimes, James would return home late from work. He would find the dinner that was left out for him and Lily, exhausted from a long day, already in bed.

These nights, James would sit in bed and watch his wife sleep for a few minutes. When she was asleep it was the only time that Lily didn’t look perfect. Even when she first awoke in morning and her eyes were puffy, or when she got up in the middle of the night to feed Harry, she somehow had a way of looking flawless. As though the red eyes and severely mussed hair was natural.

When she slept it was different. Lily usually slept on her right side, facing James. In his absence she would often cling to a pillow or extra blanket and once even her cat to somehow compensate for his not being there. She had her mouth half open and her face was squashed against her pillow. When she was feeling ill—which was often these days—she would snore or wheeze or her nose would whistle. It was very endearing.

Occasionally, she would half-murmur a lullaby if James was making noise.

If she was sleeping on her back or stomach, her legs would be splayed, taking up half of James’s space. Once she had even been lying diagonally and James had to wake her so that he could fit into bed. 

“What kept you?” she would always mumble sleepily as he climbed into bed. She never stayed awake long enough to hear his answer. 

His Lily—James’s Lily. She was not graceful when she slept. Some would say that her other perfections compensated for her lack of grace. James saw it oppositely. 

Lily’s imperfection as she slept made up for her meticulous perfection that she tirelessly displayed during daylight hours. Her imperfection made her human. Made her his. His Lily. 


	3. My Memoir

**Disclaimer:** The title “A Million Little Pieces” is in no way associates with James Frey’s book (formerly a member of Oprah’s book club). In fact, the only think these two pieces of writing have in common (besides the title) is that they are both fiction. Heh. Oh yeah…by the way, the views and opinions expressed in these writings are not necessarily those of me, Serena. Everything belongs to Jo Rowling.

**Chapter Summary:** Late 1981. James’s POV. A short written memoir by James, reflecting on his relationship with his wife; a relationship he values, but wishes he could have done better with.  


My Memoir

We both had the most horrible tempers. What time wasn’t spent together in front of a warm fire in the common room, closer than close, was spent at opposite ends of the same room, bellowing our lungs out at each other.

Grow up, she’d tell me more than anything else. Stop acting like a petulant child. I was eighteen, for God’s sake, not eight.

Stop trying to be my mother. Maybe it was _her_ that needed to act her age. I would mock her: she was eighteen, for God’s sake, not forty-eight.

Once—only once, I swear—I made her cry. That, I can safely say without a single trace of doubt, was the worst day of my life. I don’t remember what it was that we were fighting about, or what words passed between us. I can recall, however, exactly her reaction after I said … whatever it was that I said. Her eyes—her beautiful eyes—got wide and filled with tears. Her face contorted into a look of horrible anguish that torments me to this day. I wish that she’d then called me some horrible name or something in retaliation—anything. Instead, though, she just stood about ten paces away from me, looking injured. She stared at me for a long moment before turning slowly around and walking away from me. It took me nearly a week before I got over my stupid self and apologized—begged for forgiveness. It took another week for her to actually forgive me, which I didn’t deserve. It should have taken a month.

More than that, though; more than the hundred stupid arguments we had, we were crazy about each other. Most of those fights we had ended in a fifteen minute silence between us. After that, we’d smile abashedly, hug, kiss, and promise that we’d never do that again. Of course, within a few days we’d have another row, but it was a nice thing to say anyway.

All of the moments in our relationship that should have been paramount and disgustingly cliché, occurred under more unorthodox conditions.

“Stop yelling!” she’d screamed at me one day.

“Why?” I bellowed back. “You’re yelling too, Lily! Why should I stop?”

“Because I love you, stupid!”

Red faced from arguing and unsure of how to react, I shouted back, albeit no longer angrily. “I love you too, Lily!”

I did. 

I do, I mean. 

I wish I could say that getting married changed everything and made our relationship fairytale and perfect. Living in close proximity constantly certainly was surreal, but it brought out bad as well as good. It isn’t as though we _fought_ , just argued over stupid things. Stupid things that we both could have just let go. I wish we had.

Now, today, I wonder if we had let them go it would have given us more time. Now it seems our fate is sealed, and although we have both skirted around saying it, when we look at each other our eyes speak for us: we are going to die. 

So much time we wasted, I want to tell her. I want it all back. She’ll never know, though. If I tell her that, it means I am acknowledging that we are going to … well, what is going to happen. I don’t want to say it again. Acknowledging it makes it too real. 

And _that_ is what kills me. This is the only way I can tell her, and she’ll never read this. 

So, Lily, I love you. I take back everything I said that hurt you and I want to go back and redo everything. I want the fairytale relationship, wedding, marriage, that I had envisioned all those years before we dated.

I love you.

I have to stop this. What little time I have left I want to be spent with my wife and child. 

No one will ever read this.  



	4. Lily Through the Years

**Disclaimer:** The title “A Million Little Pieces” is in no way associates with James Frey’s book (formerly a member of Oprah’s book club). In fact, the only think these two pieces of writing have in common (besides the title) is that they are both fiction. Heh. Oh yeah…by the way, the views and opinions expressed in these writings are not necessarily those of me, Serena. Everything belongs to Jo Rowling.

**Chapter Summary:** 1981\. Sirius’s POV. Reflections on his changing opinion of Lily through the years that he knew her.  


Lily through the Years

In first year I hated her because my mother told me to.

In second year I hated her because she wouldn’t be my potions partner.

In third year I hated her because she cried too much.

In fourth year I hated her because she was stuck up.

In fifth year I hated her because she broke James’s heart. 

In sixth year I hated her because she continued to break James’s heart. 

In seventh year I hated her because she took James away from me.

After that I learned to love her. 

Now she’s gone and I wasted seven years hating her. Now I have no one to hate but myself. 


	5. First Impressions

**Disclaimer:** The title “A Million Little Pieces” is in no way associates with James Frey’s book (formerly a member of Oprah’s book club). In fact, the only think these two pieces of writing have in common (besides the title) is that they are both fiction. Heh. Oh yeah…by the way, the views and opinions expressed in these writings are not necessarily those of me, Serena. Everything belongs to Jo Rowling.

**Chapter Summary:** First year. Lily’s POV. There’s a boy who’s watching me. I stare quickly at the ceiling and notice it looks like the sky outside. Immediately, I’m entranced. “I’m James Potter.” Oh, no. The boy’s come over to talk to me! I pretend not to hear. “James Potter,” he repeats loudly.

First Impressions

The only thing I don’t like so far is that everyone treats us like we’re so small. I’m eleven, for heaven’s sake! I’m practically a teenager. Gosh, I can’t wait until I am!

I look around. It’s not very fair coming from a non-magic family. I don’t know _anyone_ here! Others seem to know each other well. On the train here I sat with some third years who pretended I wasn’t there. 

I look around again. There’s a boy who’s watching me. I stare quickly at the ceiling and notice it looks like the sky outside. Immediately, I’m entranced.

“I’m James Potter.”

Oh, no. The boy’s come over to talk to me! I pretend not to hear.

“James Potter,” he repeats loudly. Someone snickers.

I have no choice but to make eye contact. “Lily Evans,” I mumble. Why am I so shy?

“What’s with your hair?”

My eyes widen. What do I say to that? “Excuse me?” I hear myself say.

“Your hair,” he says again. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Is it a compliment or not? I can’t tell! “Haven’t you?” I’m sure I sound dull. Maybe he’ll stop talking to me now. When is that professor going to get here?

“NO.” This time he speaks loudly. “Have you got a hearing problem?”

I feel my face flush. I shake my head and stare at the floor. It’s grey and stone. The ceiling was much more interesting. 

Someone is tugging my hair. I jolt my head up. It’s that Potter boy. He’s holding a lock of my hair and staring at it in fascination. “Umm…”

“Oh! Sorry. I had to get a closer look.”

I raise my right eyebrow. I’m so proud of that! Whenever I do it I look very gown-up and intimidating—that’s what my mum told me, anyway. Potter drops my hair.

“So, Lily Evans,” the boy rocks back and forth on his feet, “where are you from? I’ve never heard of your family; _Evans_.”

Is this community so small that almost everyone has heard of one another? How _interesting_. “You wouldn’t have. My family isn’t magic, so—”

“You’re a Muggleborn.”

What does _that_ mean? “Huh? A what?”

“Muggleborn.”

“What does that mean?”

The boy looks shocked as though everyone knows what a Muggleborn is. “A Muggle is someone who isn’t born in a magical family.”

Someone mutters something I can’t hear, and Potter balls his hands into fists and tells them to shut it _now_. 

I nod slowly, but I’m not sure I understand completely. I don’t want to ask him anything else, though; I think I’ve already given the impression that I’m a complete imbecile.

He’s interesting, this James Potter. He has this weird smile that looks like it’s painted on his face and brownish-greenish eyes (I forget the word for that color) behind the silliest glasses I’ve ever seen! I’ve never head a boy friend—I mean a friend who’s a boy—before. Maybe this James Potter could be one. 

We hear footsteps. It must be that professor that the Prefects told us about. I forget what they said her name is. 

“Well, Evans,” Potter says pleasantly, even though we’ve been awkwardly silent for a moment. “It was nice to meet you. Maybe we’ll be in the same House.”

I smile. 

He takes his right hand out of his pocket and holds it out for me to take. I do and he grasps mine firmly and shakes it once, then squeezes again. 

I scream.

James Potter has just squashed a worm in my hand. I never knew that worms bleed, but they do and there is blood covering my hand.

I scream some more.

“James Potter!” I screech at him. What a mean boy! What a bully! And here I was thinking that I could be his friend! Hot tears burn my eyes because I’m quite sure nothing so disgusting has ever happened to me in my life. I furiously swipe my hand at him to try and wipe the worm guts on his shirt but he dodges and I only succeed in flinging the remnants all over my new robes. 

Everyone is staring and I can’t stop screaming.

This is going to be a long seven years. 


	6. Peer Pressure

**Disclaimer:** The title “A Million Little Pieces” is in no way associates with James Frey’s book (formerly a member of Oprah’s book club). In fact, the only think these two pieces of writing have in common (besides the title) is that they are both fiction. Heh. Oh yeah…by the way, the views and opinions expressed in these writings are not necessarily those of me, Serena. Everything belongs to Jo Rowling.

**Chapter Summary:** Seventh year. December 31. Third person. And that moment was mesmerizing. It seemed the whole world stopped what they were doing to see what they thought would never happen … _happen_. 

Peer Pressure   


“James.”

“What?” James wasn’t in the mood to talk to his cousin and spoke vaguely, hoping she would leave him alone. She had been annoying him all night.

“ _James_.” Margarette knew she wasn’t getting her cousin’s attention and positioned herself directly in front of him and spoke loudly.

“Jesus, what have you been drinking, Marge?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t talk to me,” James retorted coolly. “Seriously, your breath smells like—”

“Will you just listen?” Margarette was getting impatient.

James sighed. “Fine, but make it quick. I’d like to get back to the festivities.” It was New Year’s Eve. All the Gryffindors were having a party in the Common Room and they hadn’t been caught yet. Everyone was in good spirits.

Margarette scoffed. “Like you’re doing _so_ much, James!”

“What do you want, Margarette?” James took a step back. His cousin had obviously had a drink or two too many.

“What’s the matter with Lily? She’s been quiet all night.”

James was silent for a moment. “How should I know?” he said. “She’s _your_ friend.”

Margarette nodded. “I know. But you _know_ stuff about her, James. You have some weird insight.”

James rolled his eyes. “She’s tired,” he invented off the top of his head. “She’s tired because she stayed up all last night writing a potions essay. Happy?”

“Don’t lie, James. It makes you ugly,” Margarette said lightly. She tiptoed closer to her cousin and whispered. “You know, it _is_ New Years Eve … and she _isn’t_ as though she’s here _with_ anybody.”

“So?” James said nonchalantly as though he didn’t know New Years Eve customs. He sipped at his butterbeer, wishing to God that Margarette would go away.

“James! Don’t do that! Don’t pretend—”

James grabbed Margarette’s arm and shushed her.

“Don’t pretend,” she continued in a whisper, “that you don’t like her.” She removed her arm from James’s grasp. “And don’t pretend that the whole world doesn’t already know anyway.” She pivoted on her heel and walked away from her cousin and toward Lily. 

“Look!” someone shouted, pointing at the giant clock that someone had conjured so that time could be kept track of. “Look! It’s almost midnight!”

Everyone grabbed a drink and gathered around the clock. James stood five paces or so away form Lily. She wasn’t looking his way. Her eyes were locked on the face of the clock. Margarette stood between James and Lily as though mediating their silence. 

James wasn’t sure why he had ceased to pursue Lily’s affections lately. Perhaps it had suddenly seemed childish, or maybe unprofessional. They did work together often as Head Boy and Girl. 

He liked her, though. She just never had seemed to like him back. 

Margarette sighed harshly, seeming to read James’s thoughts. She looked purposefully at Lily and then back at her cousin. 

This was getting a little irritating. Maybe … maybe he didn’t _want_ to kiss Lily at midnight! Margarette hadn’t thought of that, had she? Maybe he had stopped pursuing Lily because he _didn’t_ like her anymore! Maybe it had just taken his annoying cousin to get him to realize that. 

“Ten … nine … eight …”

Margarette turned again to James as the room started counting down the seconds together. 

“James, stop being stupid! Everyone knows you like her, _Lily_ knows you like her! There’s only one way to find out if she likes you!”

Lily heard what Margarette was saying, but pretended not to.

“Seven … six …”

“Stop trying to _make_ me like her, Marge!”

“Don’t fool yourself; you know you do! Why are you so stubborn?”

“Five … four …”

“Just do it, James!”

“Marge!”

“ _Jamie!_ ” 

James glared. 

“ _Three … two … one!_ ”

The room exploded into noise. People were cheering, clapping, shooting off sparks from their wands. A few couples were kissing. 

“Do it,” said Margarette.

“No.”

Lily cheered along with the rest of the Gryffindors, pretending very hard that Margarette was not doing what she was doing.

“Do it!”

“No!”

“ _Do it!_ ”

“No!”

“ _DO—_ ”

“FINE!” James bellowed. He pushed Margarette aside and stomped over to Lily, who was ignoring him. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him and kissed her.

Margarette watched, wide-eyed. “Eww,” she said quietly, realizing that she was watching her cousin kiss her best friend.

“There!” James said to Margarette. He meant to ask if she was happy now, but it never made it out of his mouth. “Ha…” he said, trailing off.

He inclined his head toward Lily. It occurred to him what he had just done.

Lily stared at him, more wide-eyed than Margarette. But she did not move. 

“Do it again!” Margarette whispered. 

James held his breath, waiting for all hell to break loose. 

Cautiously, Lily leaned back to James, hesitated for a half second, then kissed him again.

And that moment was mesmerizing. It seemed the whole world stopped what they were doing to see what they thought would never happen … _happen_.

Then Lily pulled back and sort of blushed as though she’d never done anything quite like that before. She smiled a pretty smile and took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said. She turned and walked out of the common room.

World still spinning around him, James did what any sane person would do.

He followed her. 


	7. Shagging and Fags

**Disclaimer:** The title “A Million Little Pieces” is in no way associates with James Frey’s book (formerly a member of Oprah’s book club). In fact, the only think these two pieces of writing have in common (besides the title) is that they are both fiction. Heh. Oh yeah…by the way, the views and opinions expressed in these writings are not necessarily those of me, Serena. Everything belongs to Jo Rowling.

**Author's Note:** Just a little note: I did the research and at this time, Nicorette was being marketed in Switzerland. People travel ...   


**Chapter Summary:** Seventh year. Why would anyone smoke after sex? You know you want to know ...  


Shagging and Fags

"Why on earth would anyone want to smoke after sex?"

There was a short silence before James gave his uncertain response.

"I'm sorry ... is this a test or something?"

"No," Lily said in exasperation, "it's a question: why on earth would anyone want to smoke after sex?"

"Is it rhetorical?"

"Are you afraid to answer?"

"What is this, the question game?"

_"James!"_

"Well, why do you bring it up in the first place?"

Lily's answer was prompt, as though it had been meticulously planned since the day she'd lost her virginity and the thought entered her mind. "Because after sex your mouth is all dry from heavy breathing and the like, and I have to say I haven't shagged many times during which it would have been appropriate to pause for water. And smoking would just make that ... _worse_ , wouldn't it? Thus, I repeat my question for a third time: why on earth would anyone want to smoke after sex?"

James shrugged. "To relax."

This was dismissed with a scoff. "Sex is supposed to _be_ relaxing; not cause the need for relaxant."

"Maybe if it was really bad--"

"Do you have a fag?"

"Sorry?"

Lily repeated her question as though James was hard of hearing. " _Do ... you ... have ... a ... fag?_ "

"What? _Why?_ "

"I want to try it. I want to see wat the fuss is about."

"I don't smoke," James said shortly, "I'm an athlete."

"Rubbish," replied Lily patiently. "My mum doesn't smoke but she's always got a pack in her handbag."

"Yeah, well you mum--"

"Finish that statement, Potter, and I will Stun you, leave you in this bed, Stun Sirius and Remus and Peter, undress them, and put them in bed with you. Photographs will be taken. Now, give me a fag."

"Fine." James handed her one. "But I'm not giving you a lighter."

Lily rolled her eyes. "James. I am past the point in our relationship where I'm all discombobulated after shagging. I know I'm a witch and I _know_ I can light it with this thin pointy thing I like to call my _wand_." She did so and inhaled. Too much. She closed her eyes, anyway, though, and pretended it was relaxing. "Oh yes," she said, exhaling a great deal of smoke. "It all becomes clear." She discreetly hid a cough.

"Right."

"No, really," she took another drag, this times so her lungs did not cry in protest and she was able to mildly enjoy it. "I'm going to take up."

"Give that to me."

Lily protested, thinking he meant to put it out, but instead he took a drag of his own and promptly choked.

"Novice," she teased.

"Hey," he said, handing back the cigarette, "this is _your_ funeral."

"Make sure to tell all those attending that _you_ gave this to me in the first place." Lily gracefully blew out a trail off smoke and crushed out the rest of the fag on James's bedside table. _"C'est la_ vie." She threw back the covers of the bed and rose.

"Where are you going?" James said indignantly. "I don't like being ditched after sex any more than you do."

"I need a glass of water," Lily replied smartly, "and some Nicorette." 


	8. Thirty Seconds

**Dimsclaimer:** The title “A Million Little Pieces” is in no way associates with James Frey’s book (formerly a member of Oprah’s book club). In fact, the only think these two pieces of writing have in common (besides the title) is that they are both fiction. Heh. Oh yeah…by the way, the views and opinions expressed in these writings are not necessarily those of me, Serena. Everything belongs to Jo Rowling.

**Chapter Summary:** October 31, 1981. The longest thirty seconds of Lily Potter's life stretch between herself and her husband's body. Lily's POV.

Thirty Seconds

I saw it happen. I didn't mean to.

James told me to get Harry and run. I got Harry, but before I could run, I saw it happen.

That horrible flash of green light. And worse. 

I watched as the life left my husband's hazel eyes and he fell for hours, days, years until his body hit the floor. His face no longer showed expression; the love, the worry, the anger, the passion. 

Then time slowed.

The murderer-- _He_ \--turned around to face me. There was something in His eyes. Dispassion. He could kill and turn away without a second thought. 

But God! Why? Why could this monster have expression and _life_ and my husband ... my James ...

Should I die? What have I got now? How can I possibly go on?

Should I run? Go again into hiding with Harry?

Harry.

That's what I've got. 

I've got my son. Now I look at his innocent, peaceful face. My own eyes stare back at me.

He is walking towards us now. 

Yes, the eyes are mine, but who else is there? I see my husband. 

It makes sense now. James hasn't died. He is still in Harry.

And so am I. 

He has asked me for my baby. 

But I know what to do. I won't really die. I won't be gone.

I am speaking words but I don't hear them. I don't mean them, perhaps, either. I wouldn't know. 

Thirty seconds ago, my life was over. Now everything is clear.

We aren't gone.

I hold Harry and shield him from what was meant for him, but has found me instead.

I am not gone.

We are not gone.

We are always with you.


	9. Public Displays of Affection

**Disclaimer:** The title “A Million Little Pieces” is in no way associates with James Frey’s book (formerly a member of Oprah’s book club). In fact, the only think these two pieces of writing have in common (besides the title) is that they are both fiction. Heh. Oh yeah…by the way, the views and opinions expressed in these writings are not necessarily those of me, Serena. Everything belongs to Jo Rowling.

**Chapter Summary:** 1977 December. Seventh year during Christmas holidays, Lily and James spend quality time in London. As friends. Nothing more. But then they see a couple kissing on the Underground and Lily asks a question that could only have one possible end result. 

Public Displays of Affection

"I've always liked the Underground," Lily said lightly. "When I'm home I like to use it, even now that I can Apparate ... and drive, at that."

"Me too," agreed James. "When I was little, my dad used to take me to King's Cross on the Underground."

They entered the station at Queensway, near James's house. Near the platform, a couple stood locked in a tight embrace with no apparent intentions to come up for air.

Lily glanced the pair over. "What do you think of that?" she asked, nodding in their direction. "Snogging like that in public?"

James shrugged indifferently. "Why do you ask?"

"My dad was complaining loudly the other day about it. He said it's unsanitary."

"He did?" James laughed. "What part of it? Being on the Underground or the kissing itself?" He didn't wait for her answer before continuing. "Why? What do you think about it?"

Lily blushed. The question wasn't supposed to be reversed! 

"I don't know," she mumbled, picking at the sleeve of her coat, "it's always ... been sort of a fantasy of mine."

"Seriously?"

"Um ... well, yeah. You know ... sort of like showing everyone that I have someone who loves ... or _likes_ me enough, anyway, to kiss me on the Underground, no matter how unsanitary."

"Do you want to do it?"

"What?"

"Do you want to kiss on the Underground? Fulfill your fantasy?"

Lily looked up, started. Was he joking? She couldn't tell. "What? Kiss _you?_ "

James laughed again. "Come on, Ev. It's me, James. We're friends, it doesn't have to mean anything."

He _was_ serious! Lily just stared.

"What?" James teased. "Never kissed one of your friends before, Ev?"

Hearing him call her by her nickname for a second time in a row made Lily relax and she even managed a wry grin. "You wish, Potter."

"Hey, I'm not judging _your_ fantasy."

Suddenly once again uncomfortable, Lily mumbled, "My lips are ... really chapped."

"That's your excuse? Mine are too; it's winter, isn't it?" He nudged her with his elbow. "Go on, Ev. Tell me what you're thinking."

Lily bit her lip in hesitation before answering. "James, I can't kiss you! You're my friend! And besides, after we do it'll be all awkward and every time I ask if you want to do something during holidays--like this--I'll feel like I'm being clingy and desperate." She exhaled loudly.

"I think you're reading a bit too much into a kiss, Ev. I didn't ask if you wanted to shag me."

"Yes, but ..." Lily hesitated a moment before blurting out, "What if I like it?"

With a grin, James took a step towards Lily and bent down to her face level, taking her hands in his, and said quietly, "Chances are, Ev, I will too."


End file.
